


Cavern Pressure

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Cave, Family Team & Drama, Fun & Games plus minor Chaos, I swear I will finish this one, Laugh or Cry, M/M, Map: Sawmill, Massive Storm, Pre-Relationship, excessive amounts of mud, puns, your choice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13796304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: Torrential rain has barricaded both RED and BLU into their temporary bases at Sawmill, unable to battle given the tumultuous conditions outside.RED Team's supplies are dwindling, respawn's on the fritz and worst of all... their Scout is pinging off the walls, and eyeing the exits with increasing desperation. When the runner decides to do something ridiculous, he realises just how close the team has grown over time; and that perhaps, his interests aren't as one-sided as he first thought.





	1. Fear & Flood

**Author's Note:**

> An accidental fic, that I have yet to complete.

Rain rattled the flimsy wooden structure of the door, even as it railed against window and wall with all the angered fervour of a wronged elemental deity. Howling winds competed with the all-consuming pounding of the downpour, leaving none inside or out able to converse in anything below a shout. This dismal affair had cast the whole base into a rather melancholic atmosphere that did not look as if it would clear in the foreseeable future.

Storms of this nature were not entirely unusual around this time of year, especially at Sawmill; but the duration, however, was starting to concern more than a few members of either team. Despite having fallen for days without end, the ferocity and volume of the rain remained utterly consistent; the lush sloped landscape outside now little more than muddy rivers that snaked throughout the map. 

  
  


Ceasefire had been called, predominantly because it was impossible to get any sort of battle happening under the circumstances. Which was unusual in, and of, itself; both teams had fought in extreme conditions before -  _ hell this map even had giant sawblades to shove one another into _ \- but this weather was something else entirely. And it was having a derogatory effect on the different classes on both sides of the field.

 

Spies could neither cloak nor disguise properly, without the weather giving away their location or identity; although it must be mentioned they were far more concerned about the mud-damage to their attire, than any excess of rain-related deaths. Equally distressed were the Pyromaniacs, whose flamethrowers could not remain ignited (nor the people they turned them on) for any length of time; and the lack of rainbows in their lives left them near inconsolable. 

Heavies tended to end up knee deep in mud the moment they left spawn. Given the inherent weight of both mountainous men and their weaponry, against the weak, sodden earth below; it was small wonder that traction eluded them, and oft gave way under such insistent, overwhelming pressure. Medics, on the other hand, spent more than half their time treating sprains and bruises from missed footing, over dealing with any actual battle wounds; the wear of such a wearisome task was beginning to show in their drawn, expressionless faces.

 

Scouts accounted for the majority of those cases, being entirely unable to find firm ground on which to run or jump, most often of the mercs. They also had a bad habit of losing grip on their weapons and resorting to fist-fighting in the mud; which had led to some significant scolding from the other Classes. As the speedy messes returned to base, bloody, bruised and so caked in a thick layer of wet earth that even the relentless rain had to be supplemented by a garden hose to find the young men underneath. On at least two separate occasions, the teams had mixed up their Scouts, in this manner; which was a cause for much amusement in this otherwise dismal situation.

 

The Snipers were equally at a disadvantage, as the thick curtain of rain prevented them from seeing more than a few feet ahead; reducing their role to little more than that of bystander, in the grand scheme of things. Leaving the sharpshooters grumpy, jumpy, and ready to shove a kukri through anything that they had deemed to have snuck up on them; which tended to be startled teammates, more than spies, if truth be told. 

Soldiers and Demomen were also facing permanent grounding until the deluge let up; as both Classes had discovered that trying to rocket or sticky-jump off muddy ground simply created a sucking quagmire. In a best-case scenario, they merely became stuck and had to be rescued; but more often than not, they inadvertently blasted something important off, or ended up testing that the respawn was still functioning.

 

And as for the Engineers, well… it was impossible to find somewhere to set up under the circumstances. Dispensers sank from the second you set them down, teleporters dug their own graves with every rotation of use; and the sentries malfunctioned from the sheer bulk of water seeping in, not to mention how they wedged in the mud with every fired round. Rooftops and walkways were not plausible, as the wind and rain had a way of making everything slick and treacherous; even if their tech could deploy without becoming waterlogged and hazardous.

  
  


In short, all attempts at battle had been as  _ disastrous _ as they were  _ short-lived _ . 

Even those that somehow made it to the main control point were usually too sodden and shivering to do anything vaguely useful. Besides, the building barely kept the rain off, anyway; what with the gaping entrances on all sides at differing floor-levels, which posed additional issues. Such as the fact that the place was now perpetually covered in a thick layer of muddy water; mostly runoff from the small man-made lake nearby, intermingled with the rain that slanted through the multitude of open doorways. 

More than one mercenary on either team had had the misfortune of falling prey to this particular trip hazard. Often resulting in some rather spectacularly gory injuries and deaths involving the ever-whirring sawblades, that failed to exhilarate the opposing team as they would normally do under different,  _ drier _ , circumstances. 

  
  


It had taken three days before the Administrator had decided that there was nothing inherently satisfying in the spectacle of eighteen grown men slogging through mud and engaging in what could loosely be termed as ‘slap fights’ over actual combat. For that was all that could really be achieved, under the circumstances.  _ Finally _ , a ceasefire directive was issued to both RED and BLU, with instructions to remain in their bases and  _ not engage the other team at any cost _ ; to ‘sit tight and await further orders’, as it were.

 

They had held faithful to this directive, of course, even if everyone was slowly giving in to varying degrees of cabin fever due to the extended stay indoors. Whilst most of the mercenaries were delighted at the unanticipated downtime, and tried to use it to their advantage; many were disgruntled at being cooped up with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and dwindling supplies. There had been more than one fist-fight over snackfoods and Scrabble, and it was starting to weigh on everyone's patience.

 

Normally, under extreme circumstances, they’d automatically relocate to an alternate match-site; likely Swiftwater, or Double-Cross, as both were within a few days drive of Sawmill. Engineers would be dispatched to check the new site’s respawn was functioning; then report back to the Administrator, before setting up a teleporter pad for the others to follow. The Engineer class’s respawn chips were of a slightly different design than the others, longer range on their recall function and greater durability; which meant that there was slightly less risk, should something happen on the way to a new site, provided the respawn at the last site had not been powered down. Which should, under general circumstances, only occur _ if _ and  _ when _ the entire team was safely relocated onto a new match-site. 

The Administrator’s rules were quite stringent on this matter… she rather detested having to find replacements, after all. 

 

But even that option was lost to them now, with circumstances as treacherous as they were at current. Retreat carried a greater risk than staying put, of all the irony. 

  
  


If the grounds of the map were tumultuous at best; then the singular road that wound down the mountain, serving as both entrance and exit for the battling mercenaries, was certain death right now. No one could leave, even if they wanted to risk driving in what was almost zero visibility. Both for the obvious reasons… but also, the unspoken fear that hung heavy in the air of each rickety, temporary base.

 

The weather was playing merry havoc with various systems, but on RED base the most pressing concern was the inconsistent electricity supply. Certainly, they’d packed torches and lanterns, batteries and the like for the trip; Engie had absolutely insisted that everyone be ready for an emergency, because the generator that he’d been able to rig up from spare parts last time they were here apparently ‘wasn’t foolproof’. Which was the Texan’s way of saying, ‘ _ might just fail, so don’t go doing anything stupid now _ ’, because inconsistent access to respawn was a primary concern of all the mercenaries of RED and BLU. 

  
  


Which, in a circuitous way, had led to their current predicament.


	2. Badweather Behaviours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout makes a split-second decision that doesn't bode well.

Jerking upright from his stupor on the couch, Scout let out an aggravated yell, simultaneously slamming his feet on the bare wooden floor for emphasis. He felt restless yet listless at the same time, which was torture to his stimulation-deprived young mind.

They’d been trapped inside for fucking  _ days _ by now, and the whole situation was driving him up the wall!

 

Every muscle, every inch of flesh, felt as if it were vibrating with pent-up energy that he longed to release… but of course, going outside for a quick jog was not just ‘off the table’, but flat-out  _ banned _ by both Medic and Engineer. The more experienced mercenaries of the team had decided to limit external exposure to the elements unless necessary, and doled out different tasks to various suitable members. 

At least Engie had  _ attempted  _ to appear apologetic,  _ sympathetic _ even, when he’d gently broken it to the runner that Scout wasn’t allowed out ‘just to take a run’. Apparently they’d tallied up the amount of twisted ankles, bruised backsides and snapped wrists the runner had incurred from the disastrous week’s attempted battles; and come to the conclusion that Scout was a liability on legs, when in any form of motion on this marshy map. 

He’d argued against it, because come on… he was a  _ grown man _ and they were...what?  _ Grounding him _ ? But the others had backed Medic and Engie up, in their own ways, which left Scout with little recourse but to sulkily accept it.

Sure, twisting an ankle hurt like hell, but on the other hand, he’d risk it for the chance to do something other than lounge around this dinky little wooden box for days on end. The base, if it could even be referred to as such, was not designed for prolonged habitation… 

That is to say, if you just used the place to eat, sleep and take a dump in… it was  _ fine _ . But when you went right ahead and haunted the shoebox of a building for more than a few conscious hours, well, you started to go a little stir-crazy.

 

The others had tried to help, so he couldn’t fault them for lack of trying. There’d been card games, board games, ill-fated arm wrestling competitions, scrabble, hide’n’seek, fucking  _ charades _ until everyone started to run out ideas, an attempt at a drinking game that Medic had put a stop to, and a handful of other time-wasting ideas that ended up being nothing more than a lost hour or so. Sure, it was great, but most of them required he stayed still, sat and concentrated; which yeah, the runner could do under average circumstances, but when his skin was practically crawling with the need to move? _ Fat friggin’ chance _ .

His jiggling knee had overbalanced the rickety kitchen table one too many times, and the others had broken away to their own devices; which had left him at odds with himself. Scout had tried a puzzle until he realised half the pieces were missing, then running up and down the stairs until he was not-so-politely requested to  _ cease immediately-or-die-screaming _ by several other REDs… and afterwards he had finally given in. Simply flopping on the couch to watch the stuttering television set, upon which the colour and clarity were perpetually fading in and out as the electricity flickered. It didn’t matter that there was nothing on, you couldn’t hear anything much anyway, even if you could glean any kind of story from the flashes of show that peeked through the static at odd intervals. 

 

Scout had begun sitting, then lounging, somehow unconsciously shifting to laying on the couch until even that became too uncomfortable to bear… and then, ending up sprawling awkwardly in various positions, lanky frame taking up the entire item of furniture to the clear displeasure of the few others who wandered past. There were two dusty old armchairs, but that wasn’t the point of it, really, everyone was touchy and the littlest things could set people off now. Chewing too loud, being too quiet, zoning out, not turning the shower off right so it dripped, getting into a fist-fight over a chocolate bar… you know,  _ little things _ .

So Scout dozing on the couch, limbs akimbo and taking up all available space… well, he was certain he’d hear about it later. Most of the others were centered in the small kitchen a room over; there was a small wood fire stove in there they’d been using to cook with and keep everyone warm. Engineer was keeping Pyro occupied by having the masked merc watch the fire, making sure it was fed and ‘kept in its little metal house’; which seemed to work out well for everyone. Wouldn’t do to have the whole base go up in flames in the middle of a storm, but it was a hazard they all had to be mindful of given that everything was wooden… and their only source of heat was the very thing that could kill them all. 

 

Ironic, if you thought about it too hard… but Scout wasn’t going to, he was BORED. 

And when he got bored, impulse tended to take over, because logic was never much fun to start  with anyway...

  
  


He storms to the door, without waiting for permission or whatever the fussy older mercs were calling it, shoves the desk pinning it shut aside and flings the flimsy wooden construct wide open. Rain lashes the runner immediately, striking him hard enough that every drop rang through his bones, but he embraced the feeling; at least it was something he could  _ feel. _ It was something  _ real _ . Replacing the the hollow, empty nothingness that had been seeping through every pore with each idle second of confinement… with something tangible, exciting, daring… dangerous. 

The icy cold of the rain pelting his skin like tiny needles, raising goosebumps wherever it landed; the fresh taste of it, as the water dripped into his grinning mouth. So visceral it thrills him to the core. Scout shivers as the wind slams against and about him, cold as the arctic and strong as steel; his body shakes, but it’s exhilarating. He wants to move, but it takes a moment for his legs to catch up with the idea…

With a delighted whoop, he launches forwards, leaving the stable footing of warped wooden floorboard to sink deep into the mud of outside; there’s barely any traction but the runner couldn’t care less... he was  _ Free _ .

 

It took more effort than usual, as you would expect, but… it felt great. All that pent up energy, that odd nervousness that crackled along his muscles, it was focused now; thrumming throughout his entire body, warding off the sensation of cold that would have made a normal human turn back. Scout dashed across the way to the nearby building, a makeshift shed just up from the base; and, feeling a slight burst of warmth from the hovering healthpack as he ran through it, laughed for no reason he could name. 

It just felt  _ right _ to do so, and so the impulsive runner did;  then once more for the sheer delight of it. Strange how a sound could have a sensation of weightlessness, of freedom, to it...

 

He couldn’t see ahead, not well enough to make out anything distinct; nor could he hear much over the torrential symphony of the downpour as it slammed into the sodden earth. It was like being within a cold, wet voidspace… and it was  _ magnificent _ . Scout was a singular being in this storm, a solitary god of all that could be seen and not; the thunderous sounds about him fuelled the primal desire to be out here, running free across the earth with no constraints, boundaries or tethers binding him back in that awful little shack.

  
  


Scout turned to attempt sprinting up the main hill towards the control point, a challenge of intent against the sucking weight of gravity, one that he was more than eager to meet… and that’s when he heard it. Someone was shouting. 

It was indistinct, in a world that was nothing but thundering rain and churned earth; but he could make out the basic syllables of his class title, sense the intent behind them. He remained silent, moving further away, and started to jog again despite the gripping mud about his ankles trying to hold him firm with each step… he could feel the strain in every muscle, the sheer physical  _ effort _ , and it was a welcome struggle after all that listlessness. Why in the hell would he ever give it up willingly?

 

And yet… sometimes Fate decides to step in, whether it is welcome or otherwise.

 

Scout felt the large hand clamp down upon his upper arm, jerking him to a halt with a surprised yowl. His shoulder burned at having to take the brunt of his forced stop; but the runner bit down on his lip and heaved in a breath to steady himself before whirling on his captor. 

It was, as suspected, the furious visage of Heavy staring down at him; there was a hint of concern tinging the man’s expression, but the look in his eyes was dour. They were both saturated, a frozen tableau in the pouring rain, and Scout hated that it had been this easy to be caught. His entire trade was  _ running _ , and yet he’d only made it a few paltry meters from the door despite his best efforts. Caught by a goddamn brick wall on legs, even Pyro’d laugh at him over this!   
  
Heavy tightens his grip, squaring his mountainous form in anticipation of the runner’s next move.

“It is time to go back, leetle Scout, you could get sick or hurt out here…” the Russian reasons, tone oddly gentle despite having to shout it over the downpour consuming them. His hand begins a steady, insistent pulling on the trapped bicep, trying to guide the other back to base with minimal resistance. Scout was having none of it, he’d been free for a minute, and would not give up without a fight.

 

His free fist stung as it pounded against the mountainous wall of mercenary, the rest of his form writhing like a cut snake in an effort to wiggle free. Surely the rain had made him slick enough to be difficult to hold on to by now?

“No! C’mon man, I  _ just- _ ... I wasn’t gonna do anything  _ stupid _ or nothin’, just gotta do  _ SOMETHING _ ! I’m losing my fucking mind in that  _ BOX _ and you guys are always getting shitty at me for it… please, come on… let me go…” he shouts, fist going numb as he smacked at the large hand holding onto him. Heavy made no real motion to stop him, clearly waiting for him to cease on his own, or run out of steam. The latter was growing more likely, but Scout wasn’t going to give the man the satisfaction of being right.

 

“And  _ fuck you _ for tryin’ to stop me!” Scout continued venomously, trying to elicit some sort of emotion from the other. Anything at all… the passivity was wearing him down. “ _ Fuck you! Fuck- _ ... oh god, I just don’t wanna go back in  _ there _ … it’s too small, don’tcha get that? I know you all think I’m being a stupid kid about it, but if I can’t run for a while I get all-... uh, all  _ static-y _ inside, or something like that… please, just give me five more minutes, big guy? Please?”

  
  


There was a moment, when he thought Heavy might relent… but that hope was dashed as the larger man shook his head slowly, sadly, regretfully. “Am sorry, leetle Scout, but it is too dangerous. Could barely find you now, what if you get hurt out there and we cannot locate you?”

 

“I’ll-... I’ll just crawl to a healthpack or something, alright? I’m not a-... I’m not a  _ KID _ , godamnit, can you guys stop acting like I am?” Scout growls, furious and frustrated at continuously being treated like the baby of the group. But Heavy just sort of… _ looks at him _ , and Scout feels oddly stupid in that moment. Which was ridiculous, ‘cause from his perspective he was totally right, and yet…

 

“Scout, please… you know team cares, wants to keep you safe. Staying inside is very hard, but you must, until the storm has passed at least; we could not lose you to accident, you would be missed greatly.” Heavy adds, making the runner feel worse with every word. “Rain is harsh, and you are already soaked, shivering, what good would more time do but make you sick?”

 

He wanted to argue, he wanted to  _ so bad _ , but it felt ridiculous and childish to continue this any longer. Heavy was standing there, chilled to the bone, trying to reason with a person who he could have easily picked up with one hand and dragged back to base; showing patience, despite the shit Scout threw at him. It wasn’t fair to prolong this anymore.

 

“...yeah, fine… c’mon, let’s go in before ya catch a cold, big guy…” he mutters; and feels, more than hears, the Russian laugh in response. 

 

Scout feels the grip relax, and there’s a fleeting thought that now would be a good time to run for it, have a little extra time outside the ‘box’, so to speak... but he tamps down on it, choosing instead to turn towards the other. And he sees, as he faces the Heavy front-on, the relief on that large, square face. 

It had been, in a way, a test; Heavy had trusted Scout not to do something rash, and been rewarded. For a brief second he wondered if the next tier to this ‘trust thing’ was friendship bracelets… he’d have to ask someone. Demo maybe, that guy would know. He shakes himself out of that particular weird train of thought as a gust of wind reminds him how chilled to the bone his entire body just so happens to be now the exhilaration has worn off; though the fact he’s rapidly losing the ability to tell might be a bit of a problem. 

  
  


For some reason, he feels like laughing at how completely absurd the whole situation was. Instead, the Scout goes to follow Heavy back to base, and realises the extended standoff has caused an unforeseen consequence. A silent smack to the numb region confirms it. He groans, knowing that there really was only a single expedient solution, and Spy would rag on him mercilessly if the French bastard saw it.

 

“Are you alright?” Heavy inquires, noting Scout had paused.   
  


“I-… ya not gonna _fuckin’_ _believe this_ but, I can’t really feel my legs anymore… it was fine a minute ago but now it’s like they’re made of lead or something…” Scout replies, huffily, already seeing the amused light go on behind Heavy’s eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up... “

 

“Is no problem.” Heavy simply responds, hoisting the runner up into a bridal carry, and clearly attempting not to laugh at the relieved-yet-embarrassed expression all over Scout’s face. The Russian shifts the Bostonian about slightly, accommodating the slight weight as one would when lifting a kitten, then begins the surprisingly short trek back to the front door; which is flapping ajar, manned by a concerned bevy of teammates all calling out to guide them back to the practically rain-obscured entrance. 


	3. A Right Dressing-Downpour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every Action has an equal and opposite Reaction.   
> Scout's little wet-weather escapade comes with consequences, and the team let him know how much trouble he's in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ursy, first of her name, reader of fiction and sender of comments.

 

“There ya are, thank heavens! Ah was worried you’d gone whackadoodle when you launched your fool self outta here like the BLU firebug was after ya. When you didn’t answer our shouting, I thought you’d up and died out there!” Engie cries, as they step inside onto a small pile of  _ Mann Co. _ brand towels, hastily dumped by the entrance to stow the floodtide of water gushing in. Soldier slams the door shut behind them, and Pyro pushes the desk back in place as Heavy carefully places Scout on the haphazard pile. 

 

Engie frowns, taking in the sight of the runner sitting on the floor, a saturated, dishevelled mess. Like a fluffy cat on bathday, there seems to be a lot less of the lad now he’s soaked through; it’s somewhat amusing, but mostly concerning. 

“Didn’t go and hurt yourself out there, didja Scoot?” he asks, automatically assuming the worst.

 

“No… legs just froze up while Heavy was talkin’, that’s all.” Scout sighs, deciding honesty would expediate the process of forgiveness. He can barely feel it, but he knows his entire body is shaking. He’s gotta look ridiculous, like a drowned rat or something, but there wasn’t much he could do about it honestly… not ‘til the others had had their say on the matter.

Whenever they got around to it, apparently. 

 

No one is saying anything, and it was really starting to get to Scout. It was like when you fucked up back at home, and Ma found out; then there’d be this long, tense stalemate where  _ you _ knew  _ she _ knew, and _ she _ knew that _ you _ knew that  _ she knew _ … so you were both waiting for the other party to break first. Ma always won. There was never any real competition, she just liked to let them  _ think  _ they had a chance for a bit, to psyche her boys out. 

  
  


From out of nowhere, a towel is dumped on his head by Demo, jerking the runner out of his abstract thoughts. Scout automatically mumbles some sort of thanks at the guy before awkwardly attempting to dry himself off with the clearly pre-warmed, fluffy object. Which was a great plan, in theory, but his hands aren’t cooperating one bit. “ _...fuck _ .” 

Medic was there, fussing over Heavy, who was trying to ward the other off and redirect the resident physician’s attention to the Scout. Though focused on the Russian, the medical mercenary did indeed pause to spare a glance at the runner when he heard the quiet cursing, and narrowed his eyes; visibly making a detailed observation of his next ‘patient’.

 

Pyro was standing to the side, holding their Rainblower, clearly having associated the object with  _ An Idea _ in relation to the other two saturated mercenaries; but thankfully Engie had taken note of the situation and was quietly intervening before anyone ended up toasted. It was only in noticing the firebug, that Scout’s wandering attention really caught on to the fact there were others present; Soldier and Demo were off to the side, one arguing with the other that now was not the time to bring up ‘charges of desertion’ or whatever that meant, to the military mercenary. But beyond them, was a space. Which was a surprise. 

Sure, he didn’t expect Spy to be there, but…  _ nah, he was being stupid again, didn’t matter _ . Or did it? Certainly felt like it, for some reason.

 

Scout could barely understand why the fact one of the others hadn’t bothered to turn up was bothering him, before someone snapped their fingers in front of his eyes; startling him back into the present. Medic’s red-clad hand was an inch from his face, and the runner damn near went cross-eyed as he automatically focused on it, to the grim amusement of the others present. 

“Uh…” he manages, intelligently, suddenly aware of the uncomfortable clatter in his mouth, that turned out to be his teeth chattering. “It ain’t as bad as it looks?”

 

“Zhat is  _ my line _ , Herr Scout.” Medic quips back, tone stoically unamused. The other snatches the towel and tosses it over the runner’s head without preamble, drying his hair off rather vigorously. “Ve need to dry you off as swiftly as possible, to prevent you catching something… if you vere insufferable before just from being trapped in zhis little base, I can only imagine how much vorse it vill be if you are sick UND going batshit-crazy.”

  
  


Oh  _ thank freakin’ god _ , Medic was cracking-wise... so he can’t be on the guy’s shit-list over this incident. Maybe it was just that the incident gave the Doc something to do around here...    
_ Besides Heavy, that is _ . Those two ain’t subtle in the least, and Scout’s room is right next door. It’s why he’s been sleeping on the damn couch at night… with no battle, everyone was full of extra energy and pep, which meant he lost time in dreamland thanks to the way-too-thin-to-be-legal walls. 

 

Medic was watching him, abandoning the towel to the sodden pile, as he snatches out a thermometer from his coat pocket. Scout eyes it warily, because no one could ever be entirely certain as to where the man had used the thing last;  but Medic took one look at his expression before laughingly reassuring the runner it was an oral thermometer. Which was great, but he still hated the weird feeling of the easily shatterable item tenuously sitting under his tongue… any minute the wrong movement could flood his mouth with mercury. 

 

Thankfully the whole ordeal lasts less than a minute, and Medic is already tutting at the glass rod with a frown. The medical man slips off a glove to press his ridiculously warm hand to the runner’s icy cheek, and the expression grows ever more grim.

 

“Ve need to get you into something varm und dry immediately, you are colder zhan I first assumed, Herr Scout.” Medic mutters at him, reaching for the shirt’s hem, even as the runner squirmed away, awkwardly. “Now is not zhe time to be shy, Scout, stop wiggling…”

 

A pointed cough draws the room’s attention to the missing occupant, who strode in with a pile of clothes in one hand and a blanket in the other. “Can’t just ask him to strip off in front’a all of us, mate, ain’t fair…” Sniper says, then proffers the bundle of attire. “Grabbed some of the ankle-biter’s spare clothes’n’his blanket, best thing for getting caught in the storm. Can get you some clothes too, big fella, once we make sure the bilby here ain’t gonna drop dead…”

 

Heavy smiles at the offer, but shakes his head. “This is  _ nothing _ , much colder at home. Nothing that a warm shower cannot undo… thank you for offering.”

 

“If you’re sure mate.” Sniper responds, before turning his attention back to the sodden runner on the floor. “You wanna scoot into the kitchen and change now, or do you have a thing for ‘being watched’ that the rest’a the team should know about?” he teases.

 

“Aw, fuck off, Snipes…” Scout whines melodramatically in response, as he was expected to. “I’m too cold to strip for ya, maybe another time, you pervy aussie bastard…”

  
  


The others laugh at their youngest’s sass, and begin to dissipate back into the various rooms of the base, excepting the kitchen; where Scout is immediately shepherded. Thankfully, he’s left to his own devices for about five minutes, with access to a towel and dry clothes… he solves the problem of where to put his saturated ones, by dumping them in the sink. He’d get to them later.

 

Scout’s only just wrapped himself in the blanket provided, when Pyro bursts in, and for about three seconds the runner assumes  _ this was how it ended _ … until he realises that they’re brandishing a pillow, not a flamethrower. Which was one hell of a relief, to be honest.    
He can’t quite be certain of what Pyro said, most of it was muffled at best but you picked up a few basic words over the years, however he got the gist. The firebug had brought their favourite balloonicorn plushie pillow for the runner, so Scout could sleep by the fire and stay warm… which was, really freaking nice of them, actually.

 

He thanks them, whilst settling down on the floor, wrapped in the warm blanket and resting his head on the soft pillow. Pyro ‘tucks him in’, fiddling with the blanket for a minute, before bumping the gasmask’s air intake valve against his forehead in an odd approximation of a goodnight kiss, and turns to attend to the flagging fire. Scout resists the urge to laugh at how weird his life was… 

 

Medic comes in a bit after, he thinks with Heavy, but he’s drifting off; staring at the dancing flames through the stove’s grate. They’re mesmerising. Can almost understand why Pyro loved the damn stuff so much, ‘cause it was kind of beautiful when it wasn’t melting your skin off…

~)0(~

 

“C’mon mate, wake up.” says the owner of the hand who is persistently, though gently, shaking the runner out of his slumber. Scout wearily waves a hand at them, feeling sluggish and disoriented, but nonetheless groggily awake… no matter how much he wished otherwise.

 

“Wha-...?” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes to remove that weird gritty feeling. Scout blinks, and Sniper comes more fully into focus, though the bushman seems to have forgotten what he meant to say… there’s this expression all over his face, like he’d been surprised or something. “You alright, Snipes?” the runner dutifully asks. 

 

The aussie recovers himself quickly, “Er, yeah nah, everything’s fine mate. Doc wanted me to get you and the big guy up, gonna have some dinner shortly and no one wanted to trip over you lot when they were cooking, s’all.” Sniper shrugs, “Can always tell ‘em you needed a bit more shuteye, no one’s real hungry, Truckie’s just anxious to stuff you full of something hot so you don’t get sick.”

 

“Oh…” Scout breathes, grinning. Sure as hell sounded like Engie, the guy liked to fortify everyone with food or dispensers based on their needs; although sometimes he had to track people down to give them his advice, or take on a situation, no one ever went without when that bloke was around. And speaking of dispensers…

 

The runner groans, feeling more than hearing every one of his joints pop as he stretched. Some of his muscles were aching, not so much from effort, more that they’d been improperly warmed up, overused, and then frozen solid without so much as a cool-down stretch. Potential illness aside, Scout was already paying for that ridiculous run in the rain… but, he supposes that, truth be told, he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat if given a chance.

  
  


It’s the funny way Sniper’s exhale chokes off, that catches Scout’s attention; he’s sitting up, stretching his arms up slowly, trying to get everything to cooperate… and the bushman’s gone quiet. That same weird look from before is back.

 

“You… okay, Snipes? Didja catch something while the door was open?” he immediately asks, knowing full well that aussies were hardy creatures against everything but the cold. Anytime the temperature dropped, so did Sniper’s mood, motivation, and wellbeing. Winter was a minor nightmare for the poor guy… and out of respect for their friendship, Scout no longer threw snowballs at the bloke. Spy, on the other hand… was fair game.

 

Sniper blinked, then cleared his throat. “Ah, yeah mate. Lost in thought, s’all. You ready?” he responds, pointedly ignoring the knowing chuckle from across the room. Heavy was clearly awake, and watching them from within the bundle of his own blanket; the small dove, Archimedes, was sitting on his head.

 

“Sure… long as I don't have to leave this blanket, I’m freakin’ magnificent… a-okay and all the other things I usually say.” the runner responds, rubbing his legs and wiggling his toes to test the extent of the damage. They ached, as you would expect; tight and angry… but not the worst he’d ever had, not by a long shot. After a long minute, he manages to slowly rise to his feet and take a few awkward steps before adjusting the movement to counter the stiffness. 

 

Heavy is waiting by the door, as Scout passes through; he seems to throw a pointed glance at Sniper, but the runner couldn’t be arsed to work out what it meant. He saw the couch was half-free when he entered the small loungeroom, and immediately ambled towards it… 

Medic shifted slightly to accommodate the runner, who flopped onto it like his legs had flat-out given up the fight. There was a brief wave of laughter accompanying the action, and even Scout found it in himself to chuckle at how absurd it must have looked.

 

“Und how are you feeling?” Medic enquires, not looking at the runner, but instead focusing intently on the small book in his hands. He didn’t even acknowledge Heavy, standing behind him, which had the larger man adopting a pensive expression almost immediately.

  
  


Scout noticed, and squinted at the guy. “And why d’you care, Spook?” he asks, bluntly, and delights in the way ‘Medic’ nearly drops his book in startlement. “Yeah, I know it’s you… I mean, it’s good, but ya can’t fool Archie over there. Featherboy didn’t fly to sit on your shoulder like he always does with the Doc. Not ta mention ya didn’t even _look_ at the big guy over there when we walked in, much less go all creepily _lovey-dovey_ _gooey-eyed_ and leap up ta kiss him like Medic normally does… so much for _professional_.” he goads a little, mostly delighted he caught the other out. 

 

“Congratulations, Scout. I ‘ad not anticipated you would see through my disguise so swiftly… or at all, truly, though I cannot say I am displeased at your attention to detail.” Spy responds, Medic visage fading into the masked man. “The bird, you say? Hmmm, I will have to work that into my routine, then… although the Heavy issue is easily resolved.”

 

“Not if leetle Spy wants to keep head.” Heavy adds, in an oddly cheerful tone belying the nature of his statement. And it’s hard not to laugh, considering their expressions during the exchange; neither were serious, not really, but it definitely elevated the mood in the room. 

  
  


“You two kip on the couch if ya want, and I’ll go grab the Doc’n’Truckie.” Sniper says, striding towards the rickety staircase that led to the bedrooms. Maybe it was his imagination, but Scout could have sworn the laid-back lanky bloke seemed to be just a bit… rushed, in his speech. With a mental shrug he lets the weird observation go, chalking it up to his brain demanding the runner return to the Naptime Channel for at least the next few hours…

The couch creaked slightly as Heavy sat down, the furniture here was older than most of the team combined by Scout’s reckoning so it was no surprise, and a mild warmth seemed to radiate across the gap between their blanketed bodies. Only made sense to conserve heat by flopping on the big guy, right? 

 

If Heavy was amused by it, the big man didn’t say anything; though the runner felt that if he opened an eye right now he’d catch the shaved bear of a merc grinning from ear to ear at the action. And yeah, he’d brought that on himself, really; all that overly-macho stuff he used to go on with when Scout’d first joined the teams, trying to make a name amongst a crowd of world-renowned mass-murders. Thought it’s be a bit like home, the loudest voice got the attention, y’know?

But since he’d sort of mellowed a bit, the others had too. Which was probably why he didn’t feel the need to do something ridiculously manly right now to pretend he wasn’t practically curled around the big guy. And most likely why Heavy thought he could sling one of those treetrunk arms over Scout’s shoulders, without the runner jerking away rambling about how he was ‘ _ flattered but liked girls only, yeah? _ ’

  
  


“Don’t zhey make an adorable couple, Doctor?” Spy drawls, surprising both the couch’s occupants from their dozing.  Fuck. Scout’d forgot the bastard was still here, kind of blanked out the whole world now he was toasty enough to finally get back to sleep.

 

“Indeed, Herr Spy…” Medic responds in a slightly bored tone, indicating he was clearly caught up in his own thoughts but still devoting something to the current situation. Scout felt Heavy twitch, as Medic teases, “Vhy Misha… should I be jealous of zhe little  _ hase _ ?” 

 

Without opening his eyes, Scout dares to dart an arm outside of the toasty blanket cocoon and wave it in the Doc’s general direction. “Hands off, he’s my giant-ass heater, get yer own…” he mumbles, feeling the briefest contact between fingertips and fabric before it moves back.  

The statement is met with laughter, as he knew it would be, and the sounds of international amusement as frenchman, german, russian and aussie alike make a discordant symphony of mirth.  _ Thank god that honking giggle wasn’t hereditary _ … Scout was gonna say something to that effect, but his open mouth immediately had a thermometer jammed into it, forestalling any smart-ass commentary. He peeled open an eye to watch the doctor patiently timing the test, with Archimedes casually nestling in his hair, and a bemused expression on his normally stern face.

 

At least the whole thing had lightened the mood in the base somewhat, sure he was probably going to hear about the whole ‘running into the rain like an idiot’ thing for a while, but it was worth it. That cloying pressure that made the walls feel so rigidly constricting… seemed to have ceased, at least for now. Scout felt like he could actually breathe.

 

The glass object was finally removed for observation, and some slight accented humming could be heard as Medic examined the thermometer. “Bad news, I’m afraid… your temperature has risen somewhat indicating you are unlikely to catch a cold or something vorse.” The Doctor sounded almost despondent over it. “Vhich means zhe mega-ostrich kidneys I have in zhe freezer are going to go to vaste… truly a great shame. Unless you are feeling…  _ poorly _ , Herr Scout?”

 

The runner snaps both eyes open and he hastily scrambles for an expression that would indicate he was at peak performance. “Nope, feelin’ great here doc, sorry to hear about ya bird bits going off in the fridge, but I don’t need ‘em right now.” he rambles in response.   
  
Medic pats him consolingly on the shoulder, “It is alright, Scout, you are cursed vith a healthy immune system... “ he sighs sadly, “I vill just have to vait until another time, zhen. Do let me know if you notice any changes in your condition… von’t you?”   
  
Unsure how to reply, Scout just about melts in relief when Heavy interjects.   
“Doctor, stop teasing the Scout, he will have heart-attack and ruin uber implant…” the larger man scolds, tone stern but tinged with affection, as it often was when those two spoke. It was sickening... or adorable, depends on how easily you get grossed out watching two mercenaries use petnames and die for each other every day. Scout’d told them to get a damn room more than once, but since he was always trapped next door, he was gonna have to change his tactic on that one…

 

Medic actually laughs in response. “Oh, you should have seen his  _ face _ , mein liebling… he zhought I vas serious! As if I vould use ostrich parts on a  _ Scout _ … pfft! Perhaps an enhanced cheetah vould be more compatible…” the man suddenly trailed off, lost in thought, but a slight cough from Sniper seemed to snap him back to the present. “Hmmm? Oh, yes, I vas serious about your temperature going up, zhough, Scout. Excellent progress in only a few hours, you may feel a slight cold coming on, but I do not zhink there vill be any greater repercussions from your mad race zhrough zhe rain…”

 

“Well that’s good.” Sniper chimes in, clapping a hand to Medic’s shoulder. “Cause Truckie said we haven’t got a lot of wood left, and I was wondering who’d be mad enough to go out looking for some with me. If the bilby’s alright, I’m gonna snag him for my backup… need someone light enough not to sink arse-deep in the mud when they’re dragging some fire fuel back here. And little miss prissy over here,” the sharpshooter jerks his head at Spy, “apparently doesn’t like getting his kit dirty.”

The Frenchman’s expression turned sour. “Nothing wrong with not wishing to end up a filthy mess of soiled attire, bushman… although I can understand if such a concept is ‘ard to comprehend for someone such as yourself.”    
  
Scout snorts as Snipes cocks an eyebrow. “Careful mate, you’re really starting to  _ piss me off _ .” The tone is a jovial threat, menacing yet clearly a jest between comrades who have fought side by side for many battles, and knew which buttons to push. 

Spy huffs, allows a slight grin to briefly grace his features, and cloaks. “Oh mon amie, I was just poking fun, taking a  _ stab in zhe dark _ … so to speak.” The words waft through the room as the espionage agent exits unseen.

 

Snipes grins, “Wanker.” he mumbles affectionately, before turning back to Scout. “So what about it, Bilby? You wanted out so bad, now’s your chance to do a sanctioned trip about the place the second it lightens up a bit out there.”

 

“Now y’all hold it, no one is going anywhere until they’ve had a good hot meal and a stern talking to about being an idiot during severe weather events!” interjects the authoritative tone of Engineer, as the stocky Texan strides in from the kitchen. There’s a bit of tomato sauce on his cheek, and a take-no-prisoners expression all over his face that brooked no arguing. “C’mon, Pyro’s gone and made you all some sausages and eggs, not much else we can cook with such limited fuel… but it smells pretty darn good.” He points the gunslinger at the two on the couch, meaningfully. “And if you pair don’t eat your weight in meat, my sentry and I may have to have a chat about who’s on the ‘Safe List’ and  _ who ain’t _ until they can learn to take direction better…”   
  
Some part of Scout was practically vibrating to make joke about the Mercs already eating enough sausages on base, but at the moment the ill-fated quip rose to his lips, the runner’s stomach gurgled loudly, forestalling the ill-advised statement. 

“Yeah,” he said, hoisting himself off the couch, “Sounds good ta me, Engie, lead the way…”


	4. A Simple Mis-Thunder-standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief relief from the pounding rain, and preparations to venture out.

By the time Engie had dropped a heaping third helping onto the runner’s plate, the Bostonian was anxiously eyeing the exits. Sure, Scout generally ate more than a bit on a daily basis to keep his energy up, just... not all at once like this. One more bite and he’d have to be  _ rolled _ into battle when it finally resumed. _ Not a good look for a Scout. _

 

The Texan was staring the runner down, arms crossed and a greasy spatula poking out of his gunslinger’s grasp, silently daring the younger mercenary to make a run for it before he finished the plate. Scout was mentally running through a list of polite excuses he could make to get out of eating another mouthful without offending Engie… when Sniper accidentally came to his aid. 

 

“Better make that tucker _ ‘to go’ _ , Truckie, looks like there’s a slight easing in the downpour, best go now before the weather changes its mind and we get shut in for who knows how long, again.” The sharpshooter spares a sidelong glance to the Scout, raising an eyebrow., “Long as you’re still up for it, mate?”

 

“You bet your jarate glass I am, Snipes!” Scout cheers, jumping up enthusiastically, then hissing as all his muscles reminded him exactly  _ why _ that rapid movement was  _ the Worst Idea right now _ . 

The runner straightens more cautiously this time, “Thanks for the feed, Engie, ya the best! Can’t eat anymore or I’ll burst, seriously, ka-boom! Like one’a Demo’s sticky bombs, I swear… but you should totally dig in, ‘cause you worked so hard to feed us’n’all…” 

 

A smile tugs at the corner of Engie’s mouth. “Might just do that son, just don’t go doing anything stupid out there… again. Or it’ll be bread and water for a  _ month _ .” 

The stocky man rounds on the sharpshooter, before Scout can protest the very  _ idea _ of such a cruel punishment, and points the spatula directly at Sniper in a commanding manner. “You keep an eye on him out there, and come right on back if it gets too hectic, you hear? Can’t promise that respawn’ll keep running right while you’re out, so…  _ don’t go testing the system _ , or I’ll have to kill you.” 

  
  


Now  _ there _ was a threat you didn’t go pushing the boundaries of. Neither of them doubted one iota, that Engie would find a respawnless way to resurrect them, just to enact his threat of consequential homicide. Sniper nods his understanding, but Scout cheekily salutes the Texan as he makes for the door; the older mercenaries in the room sigh, as one, in exasperated affection. The runner was a handful, but the team wouldn’t be what it was without him… 

The same could be said for any of them, really.

 

“Don’t forget to make leetle Scout take jacket… is tiny baby man, gets too cold too quickly. Needs more meat on his bones, eat more bear, grow stronger.” Heavy intones, at the sharpshooter. Sniper raises an eyebrow, but nods at his colleague, silently acquiescing the request and suggestion; though wondering where he was going to find a bear out here in the middle of nowhere to ‘fix Scout’ the russian way. The Doctor cuts into his arbitrary thoughts by adding his own opinion to the mix.

 

“Ja, his particular physicality is ill-suited to the cold; as is yours, Herr Sniper.” Medic affirms, “If it vere not for zhe immediacy of our need for firewood, I vould not allow either of you two out into such veather… Scout is quite small, und you are… vell,  _ Australian _ …” 

  
  


Sniper huffs a laugh, “Should I be insulted, Doc?” he grins.

Medic adopts an innocent expression, “Merely stating zhe truth, Herr Sniper…”

 

  
Scout pops his head back through the kitchen door, “Snipes, c’moooooooooooooon!” he wheedles, snagging the sharpshooter by the arm and trying to bodily drag Sniper out of the conversation. “Let’s go get some freaking wood. Outside. As in  _ outside this damn  _ box _ , c’mon time’s a-wastin’ man _ …”

 

His voice trailed off as the runner all-but-dragged the unresisting Sniper further through the small base, towards the barricaded front door; leaving the other mercenaries in the kitchen area to throw knowing glances at one another. Though not a single one voiced their shared thoughts aloud. 

 

~)0(~

 

“Thanks  _ Ma _ .” Scout huffs sourly at his companion, as Sniper firmly zips the smart-talking brat into his Mann-co. supplied wet-weather gear. It was just a big jacket, something vaguely in the vicinity of a red  _ dri-za-bone _ , like they had back in Aus; but still, the kid whined like the sharpshooter had just forced him into four jumpers, a beanie and hideously embroidered mittens.

Sniper settles for pinching the kid on the cheek and throwing a shit-eating grin his way, “No probs, darl.” 

 

The noise Scout makes in response is something vaguely like an indignant cry wrapped inside a croak of surprise and fury, as he splutters to find an adequately acidic retort before the moment passes. Sniper lets out a dry cackle and yanks the attached hoodie over the runner’s head, obscuring those angry blue eyes, as he turned to the task of moving the ratty table barring the doorway. 

Damn thing’s heavier than it looks. Flat-out refusing to budge an inch from where the others had jammed it against the frontdoor, after Heavy had returned the errant bilby to their midst. Strips of old varnish and splintering wood wore off in his calloused hands, as Sniper tried to find good purchase with which to move it; he was half-worried the bloody thing would fall to pieces before bothering to budge. 

Sharp eyes darted about the perimeter of the table, searching for… something.Sniper wasn’t entirely sure what yet, but he’d know it when he saw-… ah,  _ there _ .

 

Sniper raps a knuckle on a point halfway down the table. “This bit’s the sturdiest, if we both give it a tug from about here, I’m sure she’ll shift right out of the way without falling apart.”    
He moved to grab at the small region, and felt Scout press up against his right side to do the same in the limited space available; both mercenaries yanking hard and fast at the ancient furniture, their only reward the shrill shriek of rickety wooden legs dragging across the warped floorboards. There wasn’t far to move the object, but it made enough space for both the lanky REDs to slip through the door, when opened. 

  
  


“Could have just asked one o’ us bigguns to move it for you, boyo.” Demo teased, from where he leant against the wall, simply observing their shenanigans in amusement. “But if ye spindly little buggers wanted to feel a right proper sense of achievement today about shifting that there wee bit of wood  _ like a real bloke _ … then who am I to come between you and your obviously  _ harrowing _ triumph?” 

 

Scout scowled at the statement, expression darkening by the second until both the others felt they’d crossed a line, considering how fragile the lad’s ego usually was about his physical appearance compared to the others… only to see the runner brighten in an instant. The sudden shift putting them both on their guard, like the shrill wail of a tornado siren following eerie silence.

 

“Well, since ya don’t know what a real man looks like, Demo… lemme school you real quick.”  A swift flash of buck teeth, and then the absolute dork starts flexing. Comedically, one might add, in his wet-weather attire that restricted the majority of movement he was attempting. It was somewhat like watching a peacock trying to show off from within the confines of a sleeping bag.Cheeky blighter had tricked them, and the split-second reversal of tension seemed to snap them back into the moment. Sniper and Demo found themselves laughing at the runner’s antics, what else could you do under the circumstances?

 

“Alright, enough of…  _ whatever the hell’s goin’ on in here _ …” Engie interjects, striding in and taking stock of the situation in a heartbeat. “You two best be going. Like Stretch said… dunno how long this grace period’ll hold out, could start pouring any minute now.”

 

Sniper glances out through the boarded up window, what little he can see of the pane itself appears to be barely touched by the few raindrops falling; the whipping winds of earlier had yet to start up again, an encouraging sign.    
“Looks like we’ve got a few minutes, at least, might as well set out.” he agreed readily, shouldering his well-worn leather bag and making for the door. 

 

Scout was about to follow suit when he heard a loud, muffled cry behind him. Pyro came dashing towards the pair, clutching something carefully to their chest, almost cradling it; and when they stopped by the runner, to extend it towards him, Scout understood why. 

“Aw Py, nah, we can’t take ya favourite axetinguisher…” he says, knowing how much the barb-wire coated weapon meant to the firebug, and touched at the fact it was even being offered for something as mundane as getting some wood.

 

The pyromaniac placed the axe in his hands firmly, gasmask seeming to make a no-nonsense expression as they did so; and a somewhat muffled lecture streaming from the main air intake valve. Scout’s pretty sure Pyro was telling them to take it and come back safe, or maybe it was more about bringing them back something severed and limb-like… he kinda hoped a tree-branch would count ‘cause it was unlikely the BLUs were prowling about in this weather.

 

Engie clapped his hand to Pyro’s shoulder. “Mighty kind of you, Py, thanks for letting them take it… was wondering how they’d fell a tree with Stretch’s little knife, and Scoot’s bat. Now how about we go finish off the mountain of food I made, hmmm?”

The firebug perked up at the idea, clapping their hands in excitement and skipped off in the direction of the kitchen; sturdy Texan meandering right on behind. A flicker of surprise passes over the Scottish demolition expert’s dark face, as Engie collects him on the way past; but Demo still manages to throw an enthusiastic beam over his shoulder at the lanky mercenary pair by the door.

“Good luck, lads. Don’t die out there!” he shouts good-naturedly, before being disappearing from view into the kitchen. Distantly, they hear a query about haggis, before everything falls silent again.

 

Sniper looked at Scout.

Scout looked at Sniper.

 

“Better get a move-on then.” the sharpshooter suggested, shrugging to adjust the straps to a more comfortable position. Scout quirked an eyebrow, watching the movement with just a tad too much intensity for the other’s liking; expression blank elsewise. 

Finally, the door whipped open with a sudden gust, smacking the runner in the face. Sniper managed to straighten out his amused grin before the other caught sight of it, and merely cocked his head at the door. “I think even the weather thinks we need to get on with it, already. C’mon Bilby, let’s go before we’ve gotta swim back.”

 

Mumbling about his nose being broken, Scout trailed in his wake. His yelp was overshadowed by the door slamming shut behind them, but it still made Sniper whip around, kukri half out of its sling. The runner was yanking a spent syringe from his rear end, and scowling at the door; behind which Medic’s hooting laughter could be heard.

 

This time… Sniper couldn’t stop himself from loosing a series of loud guffaws that competed with the thunder above, as Scout loudly blamed him for teaching the ‘crazy German’ how to use the crusader’s crossbow.

 

~)0(~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, this chapter did not exactly have anything overtly exciting or enthralling happening; but it felt there needed to be a transitional chapter in there, before the lanky duo ended up outside against the elements.


	5. Hail-lelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the adventure you want, isn't the one you get.

 

Slogging through knee-high mud wasn’t  _ quite _ the adventure Scout had been hoping for... but as long as he was outside and as far away from that damn box of a base as possible, he wouldn’t be complaining. Well, not  _ that  _ much, anyway.    
Sure it was cold as hell, but the jacket Sniper had pretty much wrestled him into was warm ( _ not that Scout would ever admit it to the sharpshooter _ ) and the runner found he could divert attention from the horrifying sucking, squishing, squelching sensation of mud seeping through his socks, with a torrent of never-ending chatter.

 

Words tumbled from his mouth at such speed and ferocity that the sound was almost as pervasive as the constant pitter-patter of raindrops striking sodden earth all around them. Passing concepts, random observations, strange thoughts and questions; they flowed like a river, a stream of consciousness that defied the overwhelming clamour of nature, in long monologues and half-phrased statements, all fighting with one another to be heard.    
Scout talked, it was one of the top ten things he was great at, from his perspective of course; it wasn’t always a conscious choice, it just sort of happened sometimes, when he wasn’t entirely confident about something, or maybe feeling off, or sometimes if he got really freakin’ excited.

Right now, though? Right now he was feeling pretty fucking cold and small in a big, wet world. Sure, the runner wasn’t exactly alone out here but, Snipes was never really one for small talk at the best of times, and even Scout could sense that the guy was on alert trying to keep an eye out for any trouble.

 

Scout kind of wants to tell the guy to chill out a bit, no BLU would be risking their ass out here in the rain right now, so Snipes didn’t need to be in ‘weird bushman mode’ or whatever Spy liked to call it while mocking the Aussie. Besides, BLU’s base was made outta some sort of fancy factory-made brick arrangement, far sturdier and probably better provisioned than RED’s had been when the storm hit. 

He pauses to huff a quiet chuckle at the idea of the BLU Scout losing his shit inside that neat stone prison, probably bouncing off the walls by now; and beamed, delighted by the mental image it evoked. Suddenly the rain didn’t seem all that bad, really. At least he was  _ outside _ .

Being trapped in a base  _ all _ day,  _ every  _ day, for so long that time pretty much lost all meaning, had a way of draining the life right out of your bones; leeching your very will to  _ live _ !   
Though he’s pretty sure that the others’d call him melodramatic for saying anything like it. But they were old, and didn’t mind weird shit like knitting by the fire and reading the newspaper, or complaining about ‘young people these days’ in a pointed way that he knew they were subtly teasing him to try and liven up their pseudo-debates.

 

Tangled in this mental web of racing thoughts, Scout walks face-first into a wooden beam, sucking in a surprised gasp and landing arse-first into the mud; hands out to at least arrest any further momentum, as he tries to snap back to reality, and work out exactly what the fuck just happened. Sniper’s hand comes into focus about a foot away from his face, and the sharpshooter isn’t even trying to hide his amusement... the bastard.

“Tried to warn ya, Bilby, but you seemed lost in your own world. You alright, mate?” Sniper asks, clasping Scout’s hand in his own and hoisting the Bostonian out of the mud with a loud gurgling pop that made both men flinch at the sheer volume. “Might want to keep an eye out where you’re stepping next time, then, Scoot.”

 

Oh god, Scout just knew he was gonna be hearing about this incident for  _ weeks _ ; once Snipes told the others, there’d be mud jokes galore until the sun exploded or one of the others did something ridiculous enough to capture everyone’s attention. That was the other downside of inactivity on an Away base; at least at the main base, ‘Home’ if it could be called that, people could disperse and do their own thing in various areas around the place. When you were out in the middle of nowhere, locked in a glorified coffin of a place, people tended to get hyper-fixated on even the most insignificantly unusual goings-on. After all, the day Demo decided to try Sniper’s vegemite on his toast, and promptly denounced the delicious spread as an invention of satan himself, the whole team had joked about nothing else for a solid forty-eight hours. At least, until Heavy caught the attention of the gossip-mongers amongst them, by accidentally using whipped cream instead of shaving cream… though Scout was pretty sure Spy or Engie had a hand in that mess, when those brainy guys got bored they got  _ Creative _ . 

 

Calloused fingers snapped in front of his nose, and Scout’s focus immediately jerked him back to reality for a second time in as many minutes. He wasn’t entirely sure if his mental wandering had gone on for a few seconds or maybe a few moments, because in this thundering waterfall of a weather event there was no such thing as time. Scout became acutely aware he was still firmly gripping Sniper’s hand, and that the sharpshooter was trying to get his attention; Snipes was frowning, concerned and a tad frustrated. Maybe it had been more than a few minutes, then.

 

“You with me now, Scoot?” Sniper queries, voice raised over the clamour about them. “Maybe I should take you back to the Doc, you’re not as sharp as usual, might’ve caught cold from your earlier escape attempt.”

Scout jerkily disengages their hands, suddenly aware how cold it was now that the warm contact was broken; subtly trying to reorient his balance by firmly planting his feet in the muddy quagmire beneath them. “Nah, I’m good. Just… weird thoughts running through my head, got lost in there. Thanks for helpin’ me up and all, Snipes. Dunno what I’d do without you around.”

 

“Probably die. Oh wait, that’s right, you  _ do _ . Every bloody day it’s the same. I try to warn ya that there’s an ambush ahead, and you shrug it off ‘fore I can snipe the sticky bombs outta your path. Boom, Scout sausage sizzle all over the field until respawn grabs ya to have another go.” Sniper teases, cocking his head at the runner; the smug nature of the movement is marred by the small stream of water that ran past his eyes, having pooled in his slouch hat during their interaction. Sniper points a stern finger at the trying-not-to-laugh-Scout, and says, “Oi, you didn’t see that. Cause if you did, then I certainly got an eyeful of you landing on your ass a minute ago… you got me?”

Ever pragmatic, Sniper was. Scout beamed. “Saw… what, Snipes?”

Sniper nods back, “Exactly. Now come on, we need to get some firewood before this gets any worse.” He pretends not to see the sharp, smug, salute Scout throws his way as they continue to trudge across the sodden expanse. 

  
  


Near the far wall of the map there were a few trees that had somehow devised to grow through the wire mesh fences holding the compound together; heavy boughs leaning on the tense structure, branches poking through the gaps, and roots forcing the metal posts out of the ground. They didn’t have much tactical advantage, so Scout had honestly never noticed them much, preferring the nearby cave-like tunnel through which to launch impromptu ambushes on any distracted members of BLU team; often those holding the control point from the small shed beyond the main building, like their Sniper or Medic. Still, clearly Snipes had paid a bit more attention to the terrain of Sawmill, easily navigating them about the map; distorted as it was by ceaseless storms, thundering torrents of rain and tempestuous winds.

Scout had originally thought they’d head for the stack of wood near the main control point, but apparently someone else had gotten there first; he’d paused, confused at the empty patch of ground where he’d assumed they’d been heading. Sniper had offered an explanation without slowing his stride, just sort of casually chatting over his shoulder like they were out on a weekend jaunt through the park and not practically shouting at one another over the never-ending rainfall that seemed… yeah, actually, it did seem to be getting a tad heavier, now Scout thought about it. Shit, they’d better get a move on.

 

Turns out, the sharpshooter informed Scout as their pace increased to match the rising intensity of the downpour, that with the ‘truce’ of sorts holding, both RED and BLU mercenaries had been siphoning off the Sawmill supply of firewood; all stacked neat and proper near the main control point. No need to fight or anything, there was heaps… to start with. It’d been a great short-term solution, but then, neither team had assumed this deluge would last more than a few days at most; a week tops. Except… it had, and they hadn’t thought to make a proper plan for that eventuality.

 

Now, they were faced with a dwindling supply of… just about everything. Oh, they could make do when it came to food, the endless stream of rain meant no one would die of dehydration; and there was always something around everyone was tired of reading, when the dunny roll began to grow scarce… but heat was a  _ must _ that couldn’t be supplied any other way under the circumstances. 

The limited furniture they had, and their meagre travelling possessions, wouldn’t burn for long, anyway; so that particular idea had been tossed out the proverbial window early on. Which meant they desperately needed wood to keep the fire going in the little kitchen; meaning that the sharpshooter and striker had to get a little creative when it came to provisions procurement, now the obvious supply stock had depleted. 

  
  


There was just one little problem with the back-up plan Sniper devised… actually, kind of a big one, really. Scout’s eyes widened at the sight of their main obstacle, and swallowed harshly. Oh man, they were screwed. 

When he said as much to his travelling companion, Sniper just rolled his eyes and muttered something about Yanks that Scout didn’t quite catch, before attempting to reassure the runner. “Nah mate, s’just a little bit of water, no problem to get across if you choose the right spot.” 

 

Scout didn’t exactly  _ feel _ reassured, the lake was pretty deep under normal circumstances, and now it was practically a miniature river running down the mountain; continuously refilled by the falling rain, and filled to the brim with barely-glimpsed objects like logs, rocks and clumps of mud. But, you know, there wasn’t really a way for him to phrase that concern without it sounding like he was… scared; and Scout ain’t never going to admit something like that. Especially not to someone like Sniper.

“So…?” he prompted, resting the axetinguisher over his shoulders and stretching, doing his best to appear nonchalant about the whole situation. Gotta look cool, can’t let Snipes know he was more than a little bit concerned about potentially drowning for the sake of getting some freaking firewood…

 

Jerking his head, Sniper indicated they would be going up and around, a hard slog up the minor incline towards the main control point. Lightning flashed occasionally, followed by ear-splitting thunder that seemed to resonate through their chilled bodies like an external heartbeat. Scout was alternating between irritated, and exhausted; not entirely physically, more like… he was tired of this whole situation, it wasn’t the adventure he’d hoped for and no amount of optimism about spending time one-on-one with Snipes seemed to be helping. 

Mud squished beneath his feet, seeking entry into his footwear through every seam, and seeping through the fabric of his pants; cold water even contrived to trickle down his neck in rivulets that got underneath the warm jumper. All in all, he was starting to feel pretty disconnected with the whole experience. Miserable, you might say.

 

Scout jumps as Sniper’s arm slaps about his shoulders, he hadn’t even noticed the guy slowing his rapid pace to walk beside the runner. “C’mon Bilby, I know it’s not a lot of fun but at least we’re outside right? Nature’s bloody beautiful when it’s like this, makes ya feel alive…” the sharpshooter sighed, a sense of wonder and contentment in his eyes that made Scout’s breath catch to behold. 

The runner barely managed to shut his gaping jaw before Sniper turned back to him. “Uh, yeah, I suppose rain’s alright… if you like that sorta thing.” Scout shrugs noncommittally, looking anywhere but at the other mercenary, and blinking in sudden surprise as they reach the control point steps. “How…?”

 

“When you’re talking, it’s harder to focus on how hard it is to walk somewhere.” Sniper replies, shifting apart from the other as he lead them inside the building. Kukri out and ready for attack. It took a moment for Scout to follow him; there was a split second, in the flash of lightning as he reeled from the loss of companionable contact, where he could have sworn… there’d been a blue smudge behind them. 

“Heh, nah. They ain’t  _ that _ stupid.” he mutters to himself, following after the sharpshooter. Though his grip on the axetinguisher’s shaft tightened somewhat, and he made sure to glance back often; guarding Sniper’s back, without letting on why. If the other man noticed, he said nothing. 

 

“All clear inside, just a bit wet is all.” Sniper informs, sloshing through the dirty brown water lapping at their calves. It drained down the hill towards the lake, predominantly; but at least it was more manageable to cross. Scout could easily ascertain Sniper’s plan now; they just needed to skirt about the temporary river of a lake, and the best way to do that was to go through the shed across from the control point, on BLU’s side of the field. No big deal.

  
  


Of course, that required Lady Luck to be on their side this one time… and it seems like she was busy that evening. They’d barely made their way outside of the building when an ear-splitting creaking groan filled the air, swallowing the sharp cry of surprise Scout let out as Sniper slammed him to the ground bodily, and the world was filled with pain.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know your thoughts on this disaster.


End file.
